Little Bird
by KatLeePT
Summary: Rumpelstiltskin fights his attraction to his servant. RumBelle.


She's standing there, just behind him in the darkness. Part of him wants to face her, another to scare her away, but the wisest part of his mind advises him just to stay where he is and admire her from afar. And he does admire her.

He's watched her every move as she's made his tea and brought it to him. She is every bit as graceful as a Princess should be, but there is something else about the way she moves. Even when the shadows grow close to her, even when they snap out the light, and he sends things unseen to scurry across his castle floors, she somehow remains confident. Her every step appears bold and sure. Any other woman would have attempted to flee his darkness long ago, but she chose to come with him and has not hesitated to keep her word ever since. She has not once tried to flinch out of their deal, and that is one of the many things about her which he admires.

Another is that which any man notices. Her father named her aptly when he called her Belle for she truly is the most beautiful prize Rumpelstiltskin has ever owned. Her eyes, when she smiles which is too rare for his liking, are as beautiful and bright as a cloudless, blue sky. Her smile is perhaps the most radiant thing he's ever witnessed, and somehow, no matter how dark and gloomy his castle grows, her mere presence seems to light up the dark and send some of his shadows slipping away.

Her skin is flawless. Snow White might have skin as white as snow as was prophesied long before the Princess' birth, but Belle's flesh is sheer perfection. It looks as though it would be as soft as snow or perhaps a butterfly's wings. It reminds him of the finest porcelain he's seen only in China. The Chinese make a great number of beautiful things with their porcelain materials, and of all the things he's seen in all his travels, it is to their perfect, porcelain dolls to which he can best compare his servant girl.

But Belle's not made of porcelain. She won't break like the dolls do or other Princesses. She'll do as he orders, but she won't succumb to his commands on her soul. She wouldn't shatter at his touch, at least not if he's trying to frighten her.

There's something else deep within him that stirs when she draws near, however, something he's thought permanently destroyed for a long time now. As of late, he has come to dream of touching her but not of striking her or scaring her in any way. He dreams of stroking her flesh, of caressing her like lovers do, but he knows that is an impossible thing, not to mention fantasies in which the Dark One should have no interest.

He's tried to cull his dreams. He's tried to frighten the lass so that she no longer smiles so brightly and nicely. He's given her every reason to want to run from him, but still, she stays and still, she remains ever so radiant.

He watches her now as she hesitates in his doorway, holding the silver tray that both holds his tea and in which her reflection can be seen. He must admit: The girl does do her work well, but he would tolerate no less from any servant. He can see her warring with herself. The battle shows just behind her baby blue eyes. Like he himself, she is caught, uncertain of what to do or where to turn next. At last, she chooses to set the tray on the floor beside his stool and not bother him.

They both still when the tray clatters slightly as she lowers it. She sets it on the floor, then looks up at his back. She is wary, of that much he is certain, but still, she does not fear him as she should. When he makes no motion to turn toward her, Belle ducks and backs out of his spinning room. "Little doll, little doll," he whispers, spinning again, "you should fear what you do not understand."

Sometimes, though, especially late at night and in these dreams that have been troubling him so, a part of him wonders if perhaps she does understand. Perhaps she has seen something still lingering in his eyes, something of that part of him that he has tried so hard to kill. The Dark One has no need for softness or for love. He has only the needs of power and to bend the world to his will. For a moment, Rumpelstiltskin thinks of his true reason behind every move his makes in this enormous chessboard called life. It is for Bae that he does all he does. He has no need for a strumpet or for a Princess. Beyond the power to bring his son back to his side, all he requires is that little boy he lost, that boy to whom he tried so hard to be a good father.

He spins his wheel again. Belle will only distract him from his purpose in life. She can bring him no good, and her light is dangerous. He needs the darkness. It reminds him of why he fights. It reminds him of what happened to him as a lad and of what he's determined, still, not to do to Baelfire. He has to find his son, and the girl will only get in his way.

Only when he has finally stopped his spinning does Rumpel pause to sip his tea. Just as Belle is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen, her tea is the best he has ever tasted, but when she comes to collect his tray, he pauses in his spinning only long enough to snap, "Less sugar next time, dearie," and blatantly ignores her murmurs of agreement and bows as he resumes his spinning and plotting.

It is only long after the sun has risen, and his work at night is complete, that Rumpelstiltskin arouses from another dream. This is the most troubling he has had since his dreams of losing Baelfire ceased being a nightly occurrence. In this dream, he touched Belle's face, and although he found it made of porcelain and discovered she was indeed a doll, she did not break at his touch. It was he who shattered instead, his face that broke into a million, unmendable pieces when she touched him.

Something deep within the Dark One shivers. He tries to set the dream aside, but the image of his own face splintering and shattering will not leave him even after he has bathed and dressed. There is only one thing for it: He must send the girl away.

His mind made up, he descends to breakfast with his order resting on the tip of his tongue. He will tell the girl today that their deal is over and she is free to go her own way, but before he can reach the bottom of the staircase, she is there, standing with her hands behind her back, looking expectantly up at him, and waiting with that radiant smile of hers that threatens to chase away the dark shadows. He pulls the shadows closer around them both, but still, her smile does not waver in the slightest.

"Good morning!" she chirrups, just like a little bird, glad and eager to see the morning sunlight. For a moment, he considers she might actually be glad to see him, but he knows that is an impossibility for no one could be glad to see a thing as wicked, ugly, and monstrous as he.

He opens his mouth, knowing he must send her away, but she chimes in again before he can speak. "Breakfast is served." She turns on her heel and leads the way, with him following a few paces behind, to the dining room. It is clear to him that she has been cooking for hours, and yet still shines with cleanness, beauty, and happiness. The food smells delicious, but there is no way he could eat everything which she has set before his chair. He knows, too, that it will taste as scrumptious as it smells, and he will be tempted to eat every bit he can hold and then some.

They are midway through breakfast when he again tries to command her. "Belle?"

"Yes? Is something not to your liking?"

"No, no. The food is delicious. It's just . . . " He gazes across the table and into her eyes, and he feels that thing to which he dares not put a name, that thing that he believed long dead within him, rising again when she smiles so sweetly. Her smile really could outshine the most brilliant of rainbows.

"I . . . I must leave this afternoon." Damn the girl! He knows this is not what he meant to say, but when she smiles like that, he does not truly want to make that smile waver. He also no longer likes the thought of filling those beautiful, baby blues of hers with tears.

"Oh? Is something a matter?"

"I have told you before not to ask of my business, girl." He must keep her in her place.

"When do you expect to be home?"

"When I arrive." She glowers at him. For once, her smile does drop, but darn the girl if her pout isn't almost as beautiful as her smile! He pushes his unfinished plate away and stands. "I expect the castle to be spotless upon my return, of course."

"Of course," she quickly agrees. "Should I pack for you?"

"No need, dearie." He waves his hands and vanishes, reappearing in a deep, dark forest hundreds of miles away. There, alone, he breathes and then shakes his head. "Little bird, little bird, what are you doing?" The girl was playing with fire. He would not be burned, but he also no longer cared for the thought of scorning her. Recalling his dream, he shudders again. If he does not tread every step around her with great care, she may well yet be the end of him. He can not allow that to happen and starts his journey while reminding himself of everything that happened to bring him to this place and all the reasons why the Dark One must not perish. He will regain his son, and he will not surrender his heart again to any one, especially not to a Princess with beauty to outlast the ages but not even brains to fill a thimble. After all, if she was smart, she would be gone when he returned, but already Rumpelstiltskin knew she would be there still, still smiling and singing her unsung song that he simply would not answer.

The End


End file.
